Chapter Twenty-Two

The hem of my dress is covered in blood.

Not all his guests are dead. Some remain standing, breathing heavily, absolutely horrified by what has happened around them. Women were killed, too. Who were these people, and why did he kill them? Even Enzo is shocked by what we just saw. A bloodshed. A massacre.

There are many bodies on the floor. It's like most of the guests were killed. The sight of all this blood is like a punch to my gut. I want to vomit so badly that my ears tear up, but I do a little trick my mother always taught me. I hum, continuously, and the urge to throw up passes.

And Giotto is still dancing around by himself, stepping on the bodies, staining the soles of his shoes with their blood. He twirls around and around, bit once looking at the ground. He sighs contentedly, "This sure does clear some bad blood, doesn't it son?"

I didn't see him standing there, right beside his father. Or at least, I didn't notice that it was him. There's a cigarette dangling from the corn